Stormcrown
by Lady Salazar
Summary: "Find the last of my blood, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion." Harry is a stranger in a strange land, alone and far from home, but that doesn't stop her hero complex when she has a mission. She's spent half her life at war, so what's one more? PostDH, EWE, fem!Harry, cross with TESIV.


JKR owns Harry Potter, Bethesda owns TES.

Couple notes: This is a prologue for a hypothetical full crossover, which will probably never happen because I refuse to write a crossover to just retread the game plot of Oblivion (and I've been pants at plotting a good divergence). There are already multiple very good game novelizations. However, if it did, this would be the start. Yeah, Harry's female. Sue me. (Or not, I have no money.) It also plays into why this Harry is very different from canon, despite being essentially canon through the end of DH minus the epilogue.

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**Stormcrown**

I would start this story at the beginning, but the honest fact remains that the beginning was a Break and I don't and may never know what happened to start it. My first memories of Tamriel are hazy. I remember waking up roughly, roused by an upswing in noise I would later know was the Mythic Dawn's assault on the Imperial Palace, my body stiff from more than just untold hours spent splayed in an uncomfortable sprawl on the ratty, smelling scrap of fabric the cell had for a sleeping cot. I tried pushing myself upright before my mind cleared enough to realize my wrists were bound, and ended up faceplanting into the dirt for my trouble.

The prisoner in the cell across the block from me howled with laughter at the sight. That did much better than even the stinging pain of my mistreated nose to wake me up: I've never taken well to being laughed at. I found my feet quickly then, turning to make a biting remark at the other. He was of average height, dressed in rags with dark skin that looked blue in the wavering torchlight, but what stopped me in my tracks were his eyes. I've only known one man with eyes like that, washed-out scarlet, and Voldemort wasn't really a man in any way that counted. The other prisoner was a dunmer, a dark elf, I know that now, but back then red eyes meant some product of dark rituals, so my instinctive recoil wasn't unfounded.

The bindings, the dirt-washed stone floor, and the ratty conditions of the bare cell… My first thought was that somehow I had ended up in Azkaban. That couldn't be it, though, since a thousand years of dementor presence imbued the place with a sinister atmosphere that pervaded even after years of their absence. More importantly, pressing against my left calf I could feel the dragon leather of my spare wand holster. It was charmed to avoid notice, but no Auror would've overlooked it.

"What's wrong, Breton? Have a bit too much fun last night, don't recognize where you are?" The dunmer's false concern melted into a nasty grin. "Don't worry so much, half-breed, you'll get to know it real well before you die in here."

Ten years ago, the prison bars might've been melted by my retort, but time had taught me that ignoring racist dark wizards is both entertaining and practical. I put that into practice, letting his bait fall on deaf ears as I retreated to the rear of the cell, twisting my wrists against the bindings to try and work them loose. There was no reaching my wand with my arms tied behind my back, but if I could just reach the binding itself… my fingers brushed against leather strip, traced the elaborate knot some wit must've spent far too long a time tying. If captured, I preferred my captors lazy or incompetent enough to invest in conventional handcuffs, which were a minor flexure of will from not being bound at all. Rope and similar bindings were much harder to deal with. At least this wasn't a Stygian knot.

I found the thickest bit of knot I could reach and pressed the pads of my fingers into the rough-hewn hide.

_Diffindo._

There was no give in the pressure on my wrist. I closed my eyes to focus on the picture my searching hands had painted in my mind of the knot, and willed the material I could feel to split, to fray under my nails.

_Diffindo. _

This time, I felt the hold on my arms loosen slightly, the dull throb on my right wrist from the awkward angle I held it easing. My fingers explored the damage: one of the tines had snapped cleanly into two, and several more near it were frayed enough my fingers finished the job. That left a couple of layers, nothing a few more castings couldn't fix.

"What is this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be kept empty at all times!"

There was a creak of protesting iron, and my eyes flew open. That was close by –no, that was my cell. The empty corridor between me and the dunmer was obstructed by a few suits of clanking plate mail, with a few more coming if the sound was anything to judge by. The suit at the gate pushed it further open.

"I don't know, Captain," said that one. Male, pale complexion, average height. An imperial, I know now. "There must have been some mix-up with the Watch."

The captain, female by the voice, said something subvocally that was probably a swear word and then addressed me. "Stay back, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way."

Swords and plate mail. It was like a renaissance fair had made a house call in my prison cell, which put a knock in the theory I was in Nurmengard or some other wizard prison… or any other prison for that matter. Pretty sure Muggles as a whole have moved past those. I obediently backed up into the far cell corner, half out of care to hide my frayed binds and half out of honest wariness. Multiple enemies in full plate with swords in close quarters made for odds I wouldn't like even if I wasn't tied up.

Just then, the last of the suits showed up. That made three in all, counting the captain and the cell opener, armed to the teeth and escorting an older man in rich violet finery. He was, I knew instantly, the type that aged like Dumbledore: his hair had thinned and silvered in age and crow's feet cornered his eyes, but he moved with the grace of a much younger man and the sword at his hip looked as well-used as all the others.

Something about him made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

He spoke briefly with the captain in undertone, before she came into the cell, not sparing me a glance, and opened a passage there with a few nimble touches of brick.

"This way, sire. We'll have to leave it open, there's no switch from the other side." Now a glance, and one that could have curdled milk, at that. "So don't follow, prisoner, if you know what's best for you." She made to lead the older man into the tunnel, but mysteriously he stopped in his tracks at the sight of me.

Now, I'm used to being recognized. I still don't like the stares, like I'm a zoo exhibit or something equally exotic, but I've gotten past the desire to hex busybodies with too much gossip time. That said, it's one thing to be recognized, and quite another for someone to stare at me like I'm Voldemort reborn or some other promise of imminent messy demise.

"You… I've seen you. I know those eyes." His voice barely above a whisper, he stepped closer. "Let me see your face…" Without pause, one wrinkled hand outstretched, brushed aside my flurry of black fringe to reveal the faded form of my lightning-bolt scar. What meaning that could have, I had no idea. He let his hand fall away. "You are the one from my dreams… then the stars are right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength."

My stomach dropped like a stone. Dreams, stars? That stank of divination, and unlike Hermione I have never managed to shake my instinctive wariness of it. Call it a casualty of having been the central action of two prophecies.

"What's going on?" I asked. I couldn't not ask.

"Assassins have attacked my sons, and I'm next," he replied simply. His initial shock had evaporated, and there was an odd feeling of peace in his expression now. Peaceful resignation? "My Blades are leading me out of the city through a secret escape route, which happens to go through your cell."

Just like I just happened to be in the cell in the first place, despite it being off-limits and not having a reason to be in prison in the first place. But that was unimportant, and his information didn't tell me much I couldn't figure out from context anyway. Where was I?

"Who are you?"

The reaction from the man's bodyguards, his Blades, was immediate and obvious: surprise and then dour disapproval. By contrast, the man himself seemed to anticipate the question, as he answered with unexpected care. "From this day, I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler; by Their will, you were brought here so that we may meet. Though you are yet a stranger, you too will come to serve her in your own way."

Tamriel – I had a location, but not one I had ever heard of. I knew of no Septim dynasty. If this told me anything, it was that I was about to get into something well over my head. My uncertainty must have shown on my face, because he looked ready to speak again when the captain, fidgeting impatiently by the open passageway, interrupted.

"Please, sire, we must keep moving."

Septim hesitated for only a beat before nodding in acquiescence to his guard. There's a look in his eyes like entreaty and reassurance both at once, before he dropped my gaze to follow the captain through the passage. The second Blade, the door opener, followed closely behind him. The last, a tall man with the dark complexion of a redguard, lingered a moment in the opening of the passage to scrutinize me. He wore an ironic smile, but his eyes were hooded; the overall expression was grim. This one, I knew, saw the writing on the wall in Septim's words.

"Well, prisoner, looks like this is your lucky day," he told me, turning to leave. "Just don't follow too close."

I stood there a while in silence, staring down the passage after the Blade vanished around the far corner. I kind of wish I could say I was following his advice when I did it, but that'd be a lie. I did it because for a moment, I was debating not following at all.

It wasn't that I planned to rot in that cell. I had my wand, I was a few severing charms from escaping out the front door, and every instinct I had jangled that to step down the emperor's escape route was to damn myself to whatever fate haunted his dreams. This was the choice Dumbledore made me make when I was in sixth year, abide by the prophecy or ignore it, and this time it looked like I had the option of saying 'no.'

"What are you waiting for, Breton? Don't tell me you've decided you like the look of this place after all." The dunmer in the opposite cell, quiet and completely ignored while the Blades were present, pressed himself against his cell's bars, his red eyes bright with envy. Clearly, if the escape route went through his cell, he'd be long gone already.

I had my wand, so I had a choice. Technically. But I'm a Gryffindor – a choice to save my own skin at the cost of others is really no choice at all. This just meant I had no right to complain when the going got tough.

A few more silent casts of _diffindo_ later, the tattered hide strip fluttered to the floor. I rubbed my wrists to help restore the circulation and then reached for my wand holster, undoing the ties that secured it to my calf and transferring it to my forearm instead where I kept my primary. I drew the wand with a smooth motion, gave the dunmer a look, smiled.

He recoiled from the bars, an admirable reflex, but not one effective to dodge the jinx I shot his way. The spell I had chosen was particularly vile. He stumbled back, gurgling, and fell to his hands and knees; his back arched, and then with a revolting lurch, he spat up a great gout of slugs. His body heaved with the effort. Red eyes looked across at me with both confused shock and rage.

"That's for calling me a half-breed," I told him, and left down the passage.

The exit led down a winding corridor. It had been bored out of the earth, though there were signs someone might have once paved it if the on-again, off-again stone was any clue, and the only light came from the bluebell flames that flickered in my left palm. I wasn't sure how the Blades made it through so quickly, unless they had torches hidden under their mail, because the ground was uneven and apt to catch on my feet if I wasn't careful. The brief decline into darkness opened up into a narrow stone hallway and a stairwell. I trod carefully, but quickly. Before long I could hear the sounds of combat, ringing steel on steel and a distressed shout whose words were swallowed up by the echoes.

Curling my fingers into a fist to extinguish my lighting spell, I ducked out of the shadowed corridor, watching the emperor and his bodyguards move away down another set of stairs. The battle ended before I got there, with the results clear to see: three dead bodies, two in lurid scarlet and one the captain with her armor rent.

"…get you out of here… won't be the first… underestimate the Blades."

No words or even a backward glance were spared in my direction. What that meant, well, I wasn't sure, but I hoped that meant I wasn't considered a threat and not that the Blades had tunnel vision and simply didn't notice me. I knelt by one of the assassins, casting a sensor spell to try and work out how the attack had happened. Two assassins with plain, unenchanted robes and no weapon barring their own bare fists versus three fully decked out bodyguards? I immediately suspected magic. Only a powerful cutting curse could have sliced through heavy armor like the Blades wore.

The charm indicated otherwise. The only magic residue in the room hung like a fine web over the assassin's bodies, decaying to nothing as I watched and gone far too quickly to draw any solid conclusions from. A conjuration, maybe, I thought. Armor and a weapon. The evidence was circumstantial, but it was the only thing that made sense in context.

It became clear when I went to try the door that the Blades likely had noticed me, since the door was locked. A quick _alohomora_ made work of that, but I made a note to be careful following from then on. They had tolerated my following them this far, but past this point would probably suspect foul play. That was fine. The last decade had left me with the skillset unique to a successful career Hit Wizard, the kind that operated alongside and just outside the law in hunting down dark wizards that either stayed off the Aurors' radar or were simply too fortified a target. A silencing charm muffled any scuff of feet on stone and the sounds of breathing, a disillusionment spell paired with an aversion charm discouraged notice. The darkness was a problem, since I never worked out a spell counterpart to the Hand of Glory. I cupped a bluebell flame in my curled fist and proceeded with care.

The path descended slowly, dark and quiet all the while. Probably because of the care required guiding the emperor, I made better progress than the Blades did, catching up more than once and forced to wait in silence each time as the ring of light cast by a torch receded down hallways.

At length, we passed through another door. It opened into a room lit with sunlight that passed through high-up gratings. It was too diffuse for me to cast a shadow, but I slipped to the side of the stairwell carefully to avoid the wary gazes of the Blades at the bottom.

As it turned out, it wasn't the door that didn't close properly that should've been holding their attention. It was actually a shout from Septim himself that gave the two bodyguards the warning to jump into combat when three assassins in scarlet charged in through the ornate arch from the adjacent room. Three assassins, two taken-off-guard Blades, and a target? Bad odds.

_Accio!_

One of the assassin's number was ripped from his feet and flew toward me – which, given he was a level down from me in another stairwell, meant he cracked his head against hard stone and disappeared out of sight. The Blades recovered more quickly than the startled assassins to the strange event, cutting the remaining two down like wheat chaff. I noted my guess about conjured arms was probably true, seeing the wicked sword and mail these guys had vanished into aether as they dropped to the floor in death. The redguard Blade ducked on the stair to attend to the one my spell concussed, probably finishing him off, and the imperial came to stand next to his emperor, eyes searching the room carefully.

"Stay close, sire. There's something afoot here."

I rolled my eyes. The Blade wasn't telling Septim anything new. Despite my spellwork, he was looking straight at me. The aversion charm clearly had zero effect on him. That happened sometimes, and it never ceased to give me a turn, but somehow I wasn't surprised Septim would turn out to be one of those people. I let my concealment charms subside.

"Dragon's blood- it's that prisoner again! Kill her, she could be with the assassins!"

The imperial made to charge me, and I prepared a banishing hex to keep him at bay. Septim aborted both actions by speaking.

"No, Glenroy. She's not with them. She can help us. She already has." He waited until the Blade conceded ill-humored defeat, and spoke again to me. "Come closer, I'd prefer not to have to shout."

If the emperor wanted to talk some more, I was fine with that. Any information I could glean gave me better footing in whatever conflict I'd embroiled myself in this time. His bodyguards were less comfortable with the situation as we moved on. I understood, I really did, but it was a little aggravating that they acted like I was about to murder their charge when if I'd wanted to I could've done it easily earlier instead of helping them.

"They do not understand why I trust you. They have not seen what I have. How could I explain?"

I shook my head. Divination can only be experienced, not explained. Presently we came to a stop. The redguard ascended some stairs to reach a lever of some sort, while the imperial remained to watch me with a gimlet eye.

"Listen. I know you are a stranger, that all of Cyrodiil, perhaps even Tamriel itself is foreign to you. But you know the Nine? They who guide our fates with an invisible hand?" He reconsidered. "No, perhaps not all of them. But surely all of Nirn must answer to Akatosh, Auri-El, the dragon god, lord of time."

I might've found Glenroy's slack-jawed expression funny if my stomach hadn't turned to lead. I shook my head in negation to Septim's question, and seeing his startled look, felt compelled to try and reassure him. "I don't usually think about that kind of thing, sir. I don't like the idea of my fate being guided by anyone but myself."

"There are few indeed who do… but what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the almighty Gods?" He let the matter drop. "I have served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with innumerable sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder… Which sign marked your birth?"

"Leo. The lion." This was firmer ground. Astronomy overlapped with divination in this aspect, so I knew it well. Different parts of the world had different astrological signs, though. I elaborated a little, to give him the context he was asking for. "Ruled by the sun, the source of life, the leader, the heart; exalted in Aries, who is ruled by Mars, the ancient god of war."

Septim nodded thoughtfully in response. I saw his eyes trail up to my forehead, to the half-hidden scar, and was about to ask why he thought it so interesting as to stare when the redguard returned. The imperial bid us move again, giving me a wary look. I think our little conversation spooked him worse.

We continued on in silence, moving quickly. We were deeper now, several levels beneath the cell block, crawling through ancient structures choked with enough dust to tell me they had gone undisturbed for decades or more. Soon, the distant windows were lost and the passageway turned black for lack of light.

Glenroy fished out a torch and offered it to me. "Here, take this. An extra free hand can only help if we get attacked here."

Instead of taking it, I wordlessly summoned a fistful of bluebell flames, which I lobbed into the air. The magic flame took a position above my head, and the ghostly pale light intensified until the corridor was awash with it. The Blade's features were thrown into sharp relief.

"It won't fade?"

"Not until I will it."

He nodded sharply then, tucked the torch back into his belt. "Then let's be moving on."

Although I remained wary for the trip, I was not surprised that like before there were no attacks in the hallways of pitch darkness. Waiting in shadows for an ambush was only successful to the point that one could still see, and the brightness of a torch was searingly painful to eyes adjusted to black gloom. When we next passed into a lit area, several flights lower and an indeterminate distance later, however, instinct told me to watch out. The Blades seemingly shared my intuition, as they closed up ranks around the emperor and me, hands ready on their weapons. And sure enough –

They appeared from all corners, a pair apiece, armed to the teeth with wicked-looking armor and weapons.

"For the emperor! Baurus, get the back!"

Glenroy brandished his sword and charged the nearest corner, meeting a first assassin with a brutal strike that cleaved his shield into two. The redguard for whom I finally had a name closed up behind Septim to meet the attackers there. Since I doubted the plan was for the emperor to take on a portion, this left me the third point of a protective triangle with four enemies in two distinct groups. I drew a line in the air at the nearest pair, let fly with a banisher that slammed them into the adjacent wall where they crumpled moaning. Disregarding them for the moment as the lesser threat, I fired my follow-up cutting curse at the second group. The spell caught the first assassin in a fissure between the chestplate and his greaves, and deprived of their support he collapsed to his knees, clutching his entrails in vain attempt to keep them from spilling out as he died. The second assassin – kept charging? There was a swiftly mending gash in his chest armor – he'd taken that spell straight on –

There was no time for confusion.

_Defodio!_

With a crack like a gunshot, the assassin's head exploded. His body staggered and fell.

The first group had gotten back to their feet by now. I gathered my will, threw the full force of it behind a second cutting curse as I slashed the air at the assailants. The spell rent the air with the shrill noise of shrieking vacuum, trailing violet spell-glow. The two assassins, perhaps recognizing the motion from before, did not dodge but angled to take the attack at the thickest point of their armor. Poor them. They hit the wall in pieces, smearing the stone with blood and bile.

Turning on my heel, I plucked Baurus' second opponent away with a summoning charm. He flew at me, and I batted him toward his friends with a banisher, sent him to join them in death with a concussion curse; his own armor turned his innards to jelly. By then, the sound from Baurus' corner had stopped, and Glenroy's immediately after.

The imperial Blade spat something that was probably an invective when he turned around, but then: "No better than the bastards deserve." He looked over at me with something almost approaching approval.

I returned a grim smile. My approach to combat had changed drastically over the years. Soft stunners and disarming spells gave way to vicious slashing and blasting curses. It was brutally efficient, emphasis on brutal, and the mess… well, it took getting used to. Most people weren't so appreciative of my handiwork.

Baurus scanned the room's shadows with wary eyes, crossed over the archway that led to the next room. "Pretty sure that's all of them in the area. I'll take a look around."

The metallic sheen of a sword being sheathed brought my attention back to the emperor. I followed the direction of his gaze to results of my spellwork, mainly the marks I had made to the stone wall as I fought: a divot in the wall cast with an impression of the assassin's conjured armor, and the massive gash an inch deep at the edges above it from the super-charged cutting curse. I glanced over at the other pair, specifically the one I'd had to resort to the gouging hex to take out. Now that the threat was gone, my thoughts turned to that first, failed cutting curse. The armor had been scored, but it had regenerated, and the assailant had shrugged it off like a first year's _Flipendo_ and kept on coming. That quality of conjuration far exceeded anything I was capable of, and was frankly a bit terrifying.

Willpower was hardly inexhaustible. Slinging it behind every spell I cast was simply too dangerous.

Septim averted his stare from the wall. Whatever he saw there, I didn't know. His expression was hard to read, thoughtful, but he smiled gently. "To spill out your soul for my protection… it is a wonder, but not one you need spend for me. The signs I read show the end of my path. My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."

"You seem determined to die soon," I commented, trying not to sound accusatory. In a way, I'd been where he was now, submitting to a death that just had to happen. It still pricked at me for the man to simply accept it, even tell me not to try so hard to protect him. I overwilled a spell. So what?

"Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this, I have been blessed to see the hour of my death. To this day I have lived well, and my ghost will rest easy. My only regret is what my death promises for Tamriel. My dreams tell me little… their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. There, in their threshold, I see your face. You walk Cyrodiil under the auspices of the storm, yet in you, I see the sun's companion. There is hope still, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."

Baurus returned with an all-clear in the local perimeter, and we proceeded with all haste.

Still, that smile. It meant to soften the sting of his words. I had nothing to say in response. What was I, if not a promise of death oncoming? But I had already made my choice. This was a beginning, and there's no luck in the world that wins out over fate when I'm a player. I wondered, briefly, if it would have been kinder to walk away. Probably not.

At any rate, after another flight of stairs and some tense progression our path ran straight into a lowered portcullis. I'd already proved stone walls were no match for powerful magic, so the bars of the gate weren't really an issue. If it were, the grating provided the necessary line-of-sight for a short range Side-Along, though I didn't relish the idea of explaining Apparation in the midst of a crisis. The Blades, however, suspected a trap in the making; and after checking a side passage for hidden assailants, they went to spring it. They left me behind with the emperor. I stationed myself in the archway that connected the small room to the main path with my wand at the ready.

At first the silence was deafening. Then we heard the trap sprung in the distance: the sounds of combat.

Lots of combat.

A metallic chingling brought my attention back to Septim. He lifted his gaze from his closed fist to meet mine. "Though my guards are strong and true, even the might of the Blades cannot withstand the Powers arrayed against us. The Prince of Destruction awakes, born anew in blood and fire. These cutthroats are but his mortal pawns." Septim thrust something into my hands, closing my fingers securely over it. Still holding my hands captive, he spoke again, faster, his face deadly serious. "Take my amulet. Give it to Jauffre. Ihave a secret son, and Jauffre alone knows where to find him. Find the last of my blood, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."

He released me, took a step back. I opened my fist. Nestled in my palm against the pale wood of my wand shone a large red gem set in a golden frame. Why was he giving me this? "Your amulet?"

"The Amulet of Kings is the Empire's sacred sign of rulership, artifact of our ancient pact with the gods. It must be passed to the last of the Dragon's blood. You must keep it safe from the servants of the Destroyer."

My hand clenched again out of reflex. I knew what this was, felt a swell of panic I swallowed harshly. Find this son, and protect him, only experience taught me that I was much better at destroying things than anything else, and – no. No.

The next second seemed to take forever.

I saw the wall past the emperor's shoulder dissolve. I saw the assassin there, with his hulking wicked armor and massive mace and eyes that gleamed victory behind his mask. I saw him leap, saw the weapon coming down. Desperate, I reached out. I felt the soft material of the emperor's robe under the pads of my fingers, felt the muscles clench as I tugged him forward.

It was too late, too late, and I knew it. Septim knew it too, saw his death in my face as clearly now as in his dreams.

I saw him close his eyes.

Then _spelch_. Time returned to normal. The emperor's body collapsed on top of me and we fell together to the floor, his head in my lap, or what was left of it. My interference turned the attacker's skull bash into a glancing blow, which spattered the walls and floor with blood and bone fragments and little bits of brain and my front was wet, blood soaking through the thin fabric of my prison garb. My wand was pinned and my motions to free it hampered by the early signs of shock. Septim was stouter than he looked, or maybe that was the strange weight wrought by death and sleep, or maybe I was just weak, or…

"Stranger, you choose a poor time to throw your lot in with the Septims," said the assassin, stepping forward. He eyed me, and I knew he was smiling. That was foul enough, but then –then he laughed. Loud, raucous, joyful, and behind him I heard echoes – more of them.

I saw red. In the figurative sense, at least. My eyes registered orange, orange because the air was alight with soul-bleed from my blasting curse. Then I saw red for real, red and pink and brown when the assassin exploded from the force of the spell, the splat of him showering down like a macabre fountain. None of it touched me or the emperor, deflecting off the arcane shield that was sheer rage. With the first of them gone, I could see the remainder of the attack group. How many there were… a half-dozen, maybe. I didn't care. There weren't nearly enough.

They were all corpses when Baurus returned. I was still on the floor, unmoved from my position, with Septim gone cool on my lap and unwilling to touch him. Standing would've been tricky had I wanted to, as I was trembling from the barrage of overwilled magic I had unleashed on the pack of assassins. Baurus himself was visibly exhausted and tellingly alone. Tiredness bleached out any reaction to the gore-splattered room, and when he saw me, his face darkened in utter defeat.

"We've failed. I've… failed. The Blades are sworn to protect the emperor, and now he and all his heirs are dead."

The words shook me out of my daze. I breathed in deeply, breathed out to focus. Then, slowly, I began to shift Septim's body out of my lap. Baurus was there in an instant, holding the torso firmly to minimize any jostling. He saw the Amulet in my hand, gave me a look that was too broken to be hostile but clearly demanded why.

"It's not over yet," I told him. Astoundingly, my voice was even. "He gave me this, before… told me to get it to Jauffre. That he had one last son, but only Jauffre knew where he was."

The Blade stared at me in silence. He wanted hope, I could tell, but didn't know me, whether to trust me. He'd left me with the emperor and the emperor was dead. "Strange. He saw something in you. Trusted you. They say it's the Dragon Blood that flows in the veins of every Septim… they see more than lesser men. I've not heard of any other son, but Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the grandmaster of my order."

I took another deep breath. This was it. There was no going back. "Where can I find him?"

END


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